


Mirrors

by st_ivalice



Category: Generator Rex
Genre: F/M, Holix - Freeform, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_ivalice/pseuds/st_ivalice
Summary: The pretense of a sit-down dinner was absurd to him when the world was evolving and people were dying. But the week was a heavy one; bruises and collateral and incurables. There was no energy left in him to disagree when she suggested a nightclub. In Vegas.





	Mirrors

Even though they were both too old, too uninterested, too  _driven_  for this place, they needed something as spontaneous as the moment. They were far and few between; too long for comfortable companionship, too short for pleasured leisure.

People like them preferred reservations at classy restaurants, and they could have done so tonight--they had the power, money, and position. But, he supposed, it would have wasted time, wasted yet another chance of all the chances they'd missed these years.

They  _could_  have scheduled something out of her five idling years of leave and his seven, set the date for some time between now and when hell froze over, but Providence would just screw them over with another meeting, or containment, or drill.

It wouldn't have felt right, anyway. Businessmen, and doctors, and lawyers, ate at their tables, expecting only a contract, patient, hearing. The pretense of a sit-down dinner was absurd to him when the world was evolving and people were dying. But the week was a heavy one; bruises and collateral and incurables. There was no energy left in him to disagree when she suggested a nightclub.  _In Vegas._

He wasn't objecting. EVOs in Carson City brought them to Nevada. The job got done, and here they were, jumping into a crowded club with a clever name. He wouldn't have been surprised if she pulled him into a chapel for a Vegas wedding--or against it.

And so he let himself enjoy the moment, because really, the moment was  _her,_  and that was what mattered. He didn't care to think about the last time he went to a club just to dance. Probably never. A dance was more important than sizing up the bouncer, locating all the exits, and considering which bystanders were acceptable as collateral damage.

Through the steady rhythm, she revealed another part of her--something unbridled. No hooded expressions, smiles held back. Just  _her_. She tossed her head back, ground her hips into his, matched her steps to the ones he made, but between it all, he loved that he could just  _be_  with her. The song changed to something slower--the kind of music you'd hear in shops at the mall that teenaged girls spent their parent's money at--and she looked at him with an expression they shared.

They stopped at the bar for drinks to refresh and decided, yeah, they were done with clubs. Maybe for good; this was a one-time deal. They stepped out of the club, hand in hand, with no direction in mind. What would they do next? Walk the Strip, have dinner in the most exclusive of restaurants? Rent the penthouse for a few hours? Maybe even the whole night? But she turned to him very determinedly and said, "I need to pee."

He laughed, squeezing her hand, and led her to the elevator. They rode it in easy silence, no rough tension, no desire to press each other against the walls in a quick frenzy. She smiled at his reflection on the gold doors; he smiled back at hers. Soon they were on a different floor; quieter, emptier, full of unused ballroom banquet halls and elegant restrooms. She entered one and he leaned on the door to wait for her, but she laughed and slinked an arm around his to pull him in.

"You can come in and wait for me. There's a couch in here."

So he sat on the plush couch, worth at least two month’s salary of a normal grunt back at HQ, while she did her business. It felt good to sit down and rest his aching body. He felt his knees, his shoulders, his ribs, the dull buzz at the back of his head. Maybe they would just rest here for the rest of the night.

Finally she was done, and she stood at the triplet of full length mirrors in the powder area, checking the bags under her eyes, running her fingers over the lines on her face with a frown. She noticed him observing her through the mirror and she turned around.

"Maybe we're too old for this," she chuckled, light-hearted, but he could hear she was as exhausted as he was.

He got up from the couch, slower than he ought to, and walked to her. "We're just tired."

"Just another way of saying we're old," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Hands at her hips, he came up behind her, pressing his mouth to her neck. "Shhhh, we're not old, we just-" he paused to lift his head and whisper into her ear, "-saved the world," he breathed, and she shivered.

Turning around, she leaned in close to him, lips nearly brushing against his. "So don't we get a reward?" she said.

He shrugged. "Well. Highest ranking jobs in the most prominent organization in the world. Six-figure paycheck. What more do you want?"

"Time."

"We've got time."

"Not enough."

"Penthouse?" he offered.

She made a face like she was seriously considering it, but she shook her head. "Takes too long. I don't have enough energy to convince a concierge for the fifth time that we actually  _are_  rich."

He smirked. "Doesn't take much for you to prove it. I think one of your dresses is in the Jumpjet---the red one with the deep neckline."

She tilted her head back, baring her throat as she laughed. "You just want me all dolled up. You know it's off before the door to a room even closes." Holiday looked at him, analyzing. "Or is it an ego thing? I think you get off parading me around, daring every man to glance in my direction."

" _Who's_  got an ego?" he smirked again.

"Shut up." She smacked lightly at his chest and pulled herself closer to him, capturing his lips in an insistent kiss. For someone who said she was tired, she still had enough in her to rile him up on the best of days. He slid his hands down to her buttocks, squeezing and pushing her even closer. She pulled back to grin at him.

He grinned too before dipping low to kiss at her neck. Her sweat from their dancing earlier had cooled in their trek through the hotel but the salty taste still lingered and his tongue tapped lightly at her skin. She made a noise that was both a laugh and growl, and it reverberated through him, sending a wave of arousal he knew he could not quell as easily as before. They needed to make a decision fast. How about skip dinner, get a room, have wild sex, and order room service after? He doubted they had energy for anything too wild, but still. He wanted her,  _needed_  all of her, just like she did, if her desperate fingers working at the buttons of his shirt meant what they did.

The moment she touched his chest, he knew he'd be gone to her and before he could suggest they go upstairs, she touched his skin and he froze, his own fingers digging into her hips.

"Here?"

There was a glint in her eye when she looked at him, like the idea, and the  _urgency_ , had just occurred to her too. "Yeah."

_Christ_. This woman would be the end of him, and she knew it. He thought he was past exhibitionism, not since he'd killed people for a living, but that  _she_  suggested it? Well, she ground against his cock, and he was confident she knew his thoughts on the matter.

He lifted her, or she lifted herself, but her legs wrapped around his waist, thighs clenching his hips. His knees shook when he thought of the power in them; he loved her legs. Her back rested on the mirror and he pushed her skirt up. She smiled at him, that same easy smile, eyes alight, despite their frenzy in a hotel bathroom. His chest tightened; he loved her, and he surged forward to kiss her in a crushing, sealing demonstration.

Together they unbuckled belts and worked at buttons and shifted clothing and she sank down and he slipped inside of her. Like the club, they moved to their own rhythm. Like the club, the moment was as spontaneous as ever. Between their kisses and teeth and sighs, he caught their reflection and he thought again that maybe they were too old for this. Stubble peppered his jaw, lipstick smeared on hers. His face too weary, her eyes too watery.

She followed his gaze to the mirror on her right, forming a decidedly coquettish grin. A noise escaped her again that was something between a laugh and a harsh sigh as he thrust in her. " _Who's_  got an ego?" she managed to say between them.

He grinned and concentrated fully on her again, intent to prove that they both were guilty of vanity, and it wasn't long until she sighed his name and she clutched his head to her breast when he sighed hers. She played at his hair and he spoke as he set her down. "Next time, how about a penthouse with mirrors on the ceiling?"

She peered at him through the mirror as she buttoned her blouse and perked an eyebrow, barely concealing a smirk. "The Cosmopolitan has mirrors, I've heard."

"Isn't that  _this_  hotel?"

" _Is_  it?" she asked innocently enough, but he knew better. She turned around and helped him with his shirt. "You deal with the concierge and I'll come in through the lobby wearing your favorite dress."

He'd made many deals as the sixth most dangerous man, but this just became his best. "Okay."

 


End file.
